Stormy Grey Eyes
by clairebearbooks
Summary: What if there were a fifth who took part in the events immediately before the High King Peter the Magnificent, King Edmund the Just, Queen Susan the Gentle and Queen Lucy the Valiant were crowned in the Golden Age of Narnia? Read and review, please!
1. Chapter 1

Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy Pevensie stood on the platform, labelled tags pinned on their clothing, suitcases in hand. All four hurried down the steps as a car came chugging along the track, but it passed them with no sign of stopping.

'Do you think we've come to the right place?' Edmund asked.

Soon, a horse-drawn cart came along the track. Peter looked up at the stern, severe woman sitting behind the horse. 'Mrs...Macready?' he asked doubtfully.

'I'm afraid so,' Mrs Macready answered. 'Have you not brought anything else with you?' she asked, indicating their small cases.

'No – this is it,' Susan answered.

'Well, hop in, then.'

As they entered the huge, forbidding house on the hill, Mrs Macready began to give them a lecture on behaviours. 'The Professor is unaccustomed to havin' children in his house. And as such, there are a few rules we need to follow. There will be _no_ shoutin'. Or runnin'. No improper usage of the dumb-waiter.'

Susan reached out to touch the nose of a marble bust with her fingertips. 'No touchin' of the historical artefacts!' Mrs Macready exclaimed, shocked. Susan hurriedly took her hand away.

'And above all...there shall be no disturbin' of the Professor,' she added as they entered a stone corridor, her voice low.

Lucy lingered behind, looking at the bottom of a door. The shadow of feet, moving up and down, up and down, showed under the door. They suddenly came to a stop. Lucy sucked in a breath as she hurried after the others.

As they settled into their rooms, there was a soft knock on the door. Peter went to open it, slightly suspicious. Was there yet another rule they had to hear?

A girl stood at the door, in a slightly shabby navy skirt and a cream blouse, with a blue jumper over the top. She had hair lighter than the colour of Peter's own, tied in a tight, neat plait, and her eyes were a clear blue. Her skin was very fair, only marred by a smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Susan looked over from where she was sorting through her case. She stared with curiosity at the girl, who flushed dully under her frank stare.

'Hello. Are you the Pevensie's?' she asked.

'Yes, but who are you?' Peter countered, a little suspicious.

'I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Lewison. I was sent here as well, a week ago. Mrs Macready mentioned you were coming.'

'I'm Lucy,' Lucy piped up, getting up from the bed on which she sat.

'That's my younger sister Lucy. That's Edmund, by the window. This is Susan, my other sister, and I'm Peter,' Peter said, introducing them all.

She put the candle she was carrying on her left hand, and offered her hand. Although her skin was very fair, her hand looked quite strong. Peter took it, and they shook hands. He felt a pronounced callus on her right middle finger where she rested her pen when she wrote. 'It's a pleasure to meet you all,' she said, although she didn't look very pleased. She looked...wary.

A footstep sounded along a nearby passage. She glanced around, suddenly alert. 'Macready's on the lookout. I'd better go. My room's just along the corridor if you need anything –the smallest one at the end.'

She turned to go, but looked back. 'She's everywhere. Watch out,' she added in a quiet, timid murmur. The footsteps came closer, and she darted away. Peter looked out into the corridor, and just saw her slip into a room with a carved door, glancing back fearfully as the light of a candle fell on the floor. The door closed, with a soft click as the latch fell into place. Peter closed the door as well, thinking.

Lucy slipped under the covers. 'Sheets are all scratchy,' she said, her voice timid and quiet.

Peter looked over at her. He came to sit on the bed, while Susan stood behind him. 'Wars don't last forever, Lucy,' Susan said. 'We'll be home soon.'

'Yeah. If home's still there,' Edmund said gloomily,ambling over to the bed.

'Isn't it time you were in bed?' Susan said crossly.

'Yes, Mum!' Edmund retorted.

Peter looked at him. 'Ed!' he said sharply.

Edmund stared at him, but looked away, saying nothing.

'You saw outside,' Peter said, changing the topic. 'This place is huge. We can do whatever we want here. Tomorrow's going to be great.'

Lucy looked at him, a little disbelievingly. 'Really,' Peter said gently.

* * *

Peter lay still, staring up at the ceiling. A memory of the girl's eyes came back to him; eyes that were filled with fear, grey storm clouds gathering around the black centre.

What he couldn't understand was the unreasoning fear that had filled her eyes when she had turned back. Yes, Mrs Macready would have scolded her, but it would have been just a scolding.

Perhaps there was a harsher side to Mrs Macready that they did not know about yet. But he dismissed the thought immediately. She disapproved of their presence in the house, but he didn't think she would, or could, do more than scold them and use harsh words.

He moved restlessly. There was something else, too. Most girls would have been...friendlier, he supposed. This one, however, had not. She had looked wary, as though she had no idea whether they would taunt and tease her, or perhaps physically hurt her, or even ignore her altogether. He didn't know what, exactly, to make of Elizabeth Lewison.

One thing was certain. She wasn't a normal girl. With that, at least, straight in his mind, he rolled over and fell asleep, his dreams filled with terrified grey eyes and the faint memory of an unreasoning fear.

* * *

Lucy tossed and turned restlessly. Susan was long asleep, and no doubt the boys were too, but she couldn't sleep. She slid her feet out of bed and into her slippers, picked up the still-burning candle, and went out of the room quietly.

Lucy paused in front of the small door, hand half-raised to knock. But she hesitated; there had been something about the girl that she had not understood, had not liked. Some nuance in her manner, the way she held herself, had jarred on Lucy's perception with an unpleasant jolt.

The door opened. Elizabeth, wearing a pair of blue boy's pyjamas, looked down at Lucy in some astonishment, the little girl's hand half-raised, although she had not yet knocked. 'I couldn't sleep,' Lucy said quietly, feeling caught out.

Elizabeth looked at her, her eyes unreadable. 'Neither could I. Come in.' She opened the door fully, letting Lucy come in and latching the door after her.

She caught Lucy looking at her pyjamas in surprise, and her mouth twitched, half-amused. 'They're my brother's. They were the only pair he had that didn't have any holes. I never had any, but Mother insisted I have something to come to a stranger's house in. So I got Kevin's hand-me-downs instead.'

'How old is your brother?' Lucy asked.

'Seventeen. He wanted to stay at home with Mother, so she let him. But she packed me off to the country,' Elizabeth replied, a trace of bitterness in her tone. A resounding silence followed.

'Elizabeth?'

'Yes?'

'Why did you come here? And why did they send us here as well?'

'Why? I don't know. Probably because this is such a big house, they didn't think it was too much of a hardship for the Professor to have five children here, instead of just one. But it's got a good library. I'm happy enough,' Elizabeth said off-handedly, indicating the pile of books at the end of her bed. Lucy saw another open on her pillow and the burning candle on her bedside table that was almost fully burnt down. When she had knocked on their door earlier, it had only just been lit. She had obviously made no attempt to go to sleep, like Lucy had. There was a depression in the middle of the bed that told of her position; most likely lying on her tummy, reading the book.

'Is it a good book?' Lucy asked.

'It is,' Elizabeth said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. Her long golden hair fell to her waist, unbound. It was wavy from the tight plait it had been restrained in earlier.

Lucy looked around the room. It was indeed very small; it would, perhaps, have looked more in place as an under-stairs cupboard rather than a bedroom. There was enough room for a small wardrobe, a bed, a small table at the end of the bed, and a blue rug over the floorboards. A battered suitcase smaller than Lucy's own was pushed halfway under the bed, and a label was tied to the handle, reading 'Elizabeth Lewison' in capitals. There was a window above the bed, with small, diamond-shaped panes of glass. Lucy thought of a question she had wanted to ask.

'Elizabeth?'

'Yes, Lucy?'

'How old are you?'

'Fourteen. How old are you?'

'I'm ten. Edmund is twelve. Susan is fourteen and Peter is sixteen,' Lucy replied. A thought struck her. 'You're the same age as Susan!'

'I am, indeed, the same age as Susan,' Elizabeth replied, a strange smile on her lips.

Lucy yawned, suddenly tired. 'I think I'd better go back to bed,' she said reluctantly, looking up at Elizabeth.

The older girl was serene, unruffled by this sudden change in Lucy. 'Off you go, Lucy.'

'Elizabeth?'

'Mm?'

'Thanks.'

Elizabeth looked down at her, her eyes kind. 'Don't worry about it, Lucy. But don't let Peter or Susan know you were up this late; they'd be cross with both of us.'

'Both of us?'

'You for being up, and me for not packing you back to bed straight away.'

Lucy laughed. 'All right.' She slipped out of the door and back into the room she shared with Susan. Once back in bed, she fell asleep almost immediately.

In a small room, only three windows along from Lucy and Susan's window, a candle burnt throughout the night, where a girl sat reading, engrossed in a world she dearly longed to enter; a world of dragons, of magic, of wizards, of treasure, of elves, of dwarves; of a world that did not exist. She could enter it only in her dreams, and in the words on the pages before her.

Little did she know that another world, one that she _could_ enter in reality, was only four corridors away.

In the back of a carved wardrobe.

_End Chapter One._

* * *

Hi everyone! This is the first chappie of a new story. It should continue through The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, on to Prince Caspian, and straight through to the Last Battle. Hope you like! But remember, a writer does not live by bread alone...we live by REVIEWS! Lots and lots of REVIEWS! So if you want to keep me alive and writing, click on that little purple button in the left hand corner...you know the one. (I hope). All reviews, comments, constructive criticisms, opinions, tokens of thankfulness, pledges of lifelong devotion accepted. I even accept flames! Just a warning - I laugh at flames. So don't expect anything other than an amused mention in my next author's note! 

Remember: speed of chapter updates is directly proportional to the number of reviews I get. (Hint hint.)

Lots of love,

clairebearbooks.

30th January, 2006.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, it rained.

It poured down on the house, and in doing so, dashed Peter's hopes of exploring the woods. All four of the Pevensies felt out-of-sorts during the stormy morning. Elizabeth was quiet, curled up on a lounge and engrossed in a thick book, bound in leather, which she had "borrowed" from the library. Her only hope was that Mrs Macready and the Professor were not in the habit of frequenting the dusty shelf she had taken it from, and thus would not notice its absence. She would much rather have remained in her room, but she had guessed, and rightly so, that the Pevensies would have thought her standoffish and peculiar if she had not joined them in the morning. She did not want them to dislike her, for some reason.

'Gastrovascular,' Susan said.

Peter ignored her and the dictionary she had spread on her lap.

'Come on, Peter, gastrovascular...' Susan said persistently.

Peter sighed. 'Is it Latin?'

'Yes,' Susan replied. Elizabeth smiled grimly to herself. She could have told Peter that off the top of her head; and the meaning of it, too; having her nose in a book all the time certainly had its good points, one of those being an extensive vocabulary. Another was that she had an excuse for hiding in corners and being anti-social. Yet another was that people dismissed her strange ways as consequences of reading constantly, and did not bother her. A fourth was that her mother had given up trying to reform her eldest daughter, claiming her to be a lost cause.

It did not help the girl's heart to remember her mother's contemptuous words at their parting, and how they had underlined the warmth of her brother's goodbye at their home. She had been glad to get away from the constant, acid words, the pitying comments made to her mother about her, her brother's disdain of the strange younger sister who would not run, who would not make friends, who would refuse to come to parties and visit people; she was glad to escape the constant crushing of her spirit, by the rain of hard words and blows.

'Is it Latin for "worst game ever invented"?' Edmund asked, lying on his back and looking up at the underside of a chair.

Susan slammed the dictionary on her lap shut, much put out by the reactions of the two boys and by Lucy's downright refusal to play. She hadn't even contemplated asking Elizabeth to play; one of the reasons being that she had forgotten the girl's presence. If she had remembered, she would have thought, rightly, that Elizabeth would not tear herself away from her book.

'Peter, can we play hide-and-seek?' Lucy asked from where she sat, looking out of the window.

'But we're already having _so_ much fun,' Peter replied dryly, looking over at Susan. Elizabeth noted the sarcasm in his tone. Susan glared at him.

'Please?' Lucy repeated, getting up to stand by the arm of his chair. He looked at her, undecided.

She added the one thing she knew he could never resist from her. 'Pretty please?' Elizabeth put down her book, marking the page with a thread of cotton, and looked over at them.

Peter looked at his favourite sister, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five...'

They scattered as Peter stood and went to face the wall, his forearm over his eyes as he continued to count.

Lucy raced for an alcove in the wall, covered by a tapestry. Edmund caught up with her and thrust her aside. 'I was here first!' he exclaimed. Lucy gave him a glare and ran along the corridor. Elizabeth, who had overheard the conversation, looked at him with her steady grey eyes, making him feel a little uncomfortable, and followed Lucy, turning off into a side passage where Lucy had gone straight on.

Lucy tugged at a door handle and rushed to the next room. Thankfully, the door opened, and she stumbled inside, relieved.

At the end of the room was a tall...something, covered by a dust cloth. Lucy approached it, her eyes wide.

A tug at the dust cloth revealed a carved wardrobe. The dust cloth fluttered to the floor, collapsing noiselessly in folds of material. Lucy pulled the latch up and concealed herself inside the wardrobe, backing herself through the coats to avoid discovery for as long as possible.

Something prickly touched her back. She turned and stared, wide-eyed, as she emerged through the trees.

Into Narnia.

* * *

Elizabeth pulled the latch of a door up, but banged it down again in a rare fit of frustration when it became clear that it was locked. She rarely became openly frustrated, preferring instead to bottle up her feelings where no one could sneer or laugh at her, but she was alone, and she felt like a normal fourteen year old again, as she had not felt in years. 

She could hear Peter counting, getting closer and closer to the end mark of one hundred. She rushed out of the corridor and chose a room at random, latching the door behind her.

A carved wardrobe stood in the centre of the room. A dustcloth lay on the floor, where it was just settling down into folds. The door was ajar.

She stared at it, grey eyes wide. There was an aura of power about this wardrobe, an aura of power and majesty. It was as if it was...magic.

She shook herself, scolding her imagination. Magic! An invention for the benefit of children.

Her mother's voice crept into her memory. _Stupid girl! Imagining things when you ought to be working! I don't know why I bother to keep you..._

With an effort, she forced her mother out of her mind. Steeling herself, she lifted the latch and slipped inside, letting the door stay ajar behind her.

She backed into the wardrobe, waiting to feel the hard wood against her back, the soft coats close in around her. But she kept moving.

Surprised, she looked around. The wardrobe ought not to be as deep as this; it had looked as though she ought to have been able to reach in and touch the back of it, when she was standing at the front of it. Her eyes widened.

Before her lay a world of ice and snow. Snow blanketed every tree, every branch, white, frozen snow, glittering in the cold light. She brushed past the trees and turned slowly in circles, staring up at the trees and the overcast sky. Her feet hardly made an impression on the snow; it was obvious that it had been frozen hard for quite some time.

Her mouth, so unaccustomed to grins or laughter, spread into a wide smile, a joyful smile. She had hardly ever seen real snow, proper snow; there had not been a real snowfall where she lived since before she was born, and she rarely visited the heart of London. This was a dream come true. She looked at the sleeve of her blouse; white crystals rested there. Her fingertips brushed them away gently, feeling their cold against the warmth of her skin through the thin cream blouse.

Her sharp ears picked up an unfamiliar sound; something scraping against the snow. Looking around, she spotted a likely tree, and climbed it hastily. She was stronger than she looked, from years of slaving for her family; caring for the garden, scrubbing the floors, carrying baskets of household necessaries from the local shops and stalls every few days, cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, sewing. Perched precariously on a wide branch, she waited.

Six white reindeer swept into view, controlled by an ugly, gnarled little man with a cruel whip, who looked to be shorter than her waist. She held her breath; for in the sled which followed, there was a lady, wrapped in white, with a crystal headdress.

The lady called out to the gnome-like creature. 'Stop, Ginarrbrik.' She got out of the sled and looked around, her beautiful, cold face expressionless.

Elizabeth shivered. Although she had not met any women like this before, she did not like this lady; cold and icily beautiful, wrapped in furs and rugs, with a crystal spear by her side. There was a pulsing aura of evil around her; a majestic evil, a disguised evil, but evil nonetheless. It was colder than it had been.

Her foot slipped. A dusting of snow sprinkled down from the branch where her foot lay, and she silently kicked herself. That was a dead giveaway that someone was hiding. For whatever reason, she did not want to be found.

The lady's face hardened. She looked up and pointed the crystal spear towards the tree. Elizabeth tensed, ready to jump and run, back towards the wardrobe, away from the little gnome-man and the "empress of ice", as she called the woman in her own mind. She had an aura of power about her. You would not easily question her orders or motives without fear.

A little bird hopped to Elizabeth's branch. She shooed it away silently; she did not want this woman to punish the bird, as well as her. It flew down and dived past the lady, darting to one side to flash its brown wings in the woman's face, before perching upon another branch and chirping defiantly.

The woman's eyes grew icy. She turned on her heel and seated herself in the sled again. Her gnome-like creature whipped on the six white reindeer, and in a moment they were gone.

Elizabeth let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding, and shivered convulsively. It was cold, and her hands were bare. Her breath hovered in ice crystals before her. She carefully detached her hands from the tree trunk, wincing as fragments of skin that had frozen to the trunk tore from her fingers and hands. Her hands around her stomach, she jumped down from the branch and landed on both feet, nearly letting out a cry of pain as the shock reverberated in her feet.

The bird fluttered down and perched on the sleeve of her blouse. She looked down at it gravely. 'Thank you, wing-friend,' she whispered gently. 'Thank you for my life. Fly away now, quickly.'

The bird chirped cheerfully and flew away, lost quickly in the thick branches of the trees. She looked at where it had been, brow furrowed in thought.

Why had she thanked it for her life? It was just a bird. It couldn't possibly understand what she was saying. It was against all the rules of logic, of biology, and of nature. But no one could have heard her say it – she could pretend she had never said it. In fact, she would not say anything to anyone about this world inside the wardrobe. It was hers. And hers alone.

She ran back to the lamppost and back into the wardrobe with joy swelling inside her, joy as she had not felt in years. The last time she had felt this happy was when she had been allowed, after weeks of begging and pleading with her parents, to attend a concert in St-Martin-In-The-Fields with her aunt, who had since died. She had treasured the memory of the concert, and still did; it was the first real musical experience she had ever had.

She had only felt real joy three times in her life that she could recall; once was when she had discovered the world in the wardrobe. The second was at the concert with her Aunt Virginia. And the first was when her mother had grudgingly allowed her to have piano lessons. In the piano, she had discovered a world of music she had not known existed. Within a year, she was playing with experience and a feeling that few pianists could put into their music. It was her one joy.

But then her aunt had become ill, and died. The mind of the child she had been had not understood why the woman she loved looked so white and pale; why she had not been able to move; why the doctors clustered around her bedside. She could not understand why Aunty Virginia had not moved when she had gone in to gaily tell her of the piano piece she had mastered that day, nor comprehend why her skin was icy cold, and pale. Why the doctors had tried to pull her away from the woman she looked on as a mother, when she so clearly needed Elizabeth to wake her up. She had clung to her aunt, weeping, imploring her to wake up. Eventually her brother had come and slapped her away, before picking her up and taking her home. The whipping she had received that night was the first she had taken in silence. She had been alone then; truly alone, and had remained so up until now. But now…

* * *

She pulled open the doors of the wardrobe, to hear Lucy shouting, '…I'm back, I'm back! It's all right, I'm back!' 

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. Back from where?

'Shut up, he's coming!' Edmund hissed. Elizabeth peeped around the corner of the door, to see Lucy staring at Edmund in complete incomprehension as the boy poked his head out of the alcove.

Peter came up the stairs and saw them, his brow furrowing in confusion. 'You know, I'm not sure you two have _quite_ got the idea of this game.'

'Weren't you wondering where I was?' Lucy asked, as confused as Peter.

'That's the point! It's why he was seeking you!' Edmund said crossly.

Elizabeth slipped out of the doorway. 'What's happened?' she asked.

'Does this mean I win?' Susan said, arriving behind Peter.

'I don't think Lucy wants to play any more,' Peter said, bemused. Lucy was the one who had first wanted to _play_ hide and seek, and here she was, having not even bothered to hide?

'But...I've been gone...for hours,' Lucy said doubtfully.

The three stared at her. Elizabeth's grey eyes deepened slightly as she thought quickly.

Susan stared into the huge wardrobe, clearing the coats aside and rapping on the back panel with her knuckles. Edmund knocked on the side surreptitiously, listening closely. 'Lucy, the only wood in here is the back of the wardrobe,' Susan said, staring at her younger sister. Elizabeth stood behind Lucy; hand on her shoulder, every line of her body shouting her support of the younger girl.

'One game at a time, Lu. We don't all have your imagination,' Peter said, still a little doubtful. Peter, Susan and Edmund turned to leave.

'But I wasn't imagining!' Lucy cried. Elizabeth still stood behind her, hand on her shoulder, grey eyes unreadable.

The three of them turned at the door. 'That's enough, Lucy,' Susan said.

'I wouldn't lie about something like this!' Lucy shouted, now bewildered at her desertion and the disbelief on the part of her brothers and sisters.

'Well, I believe you,' said Edmund unexpectedly, coming forward.

'You do?' said Lucy doubtfully. Elizabeth's eyes deepened to a stormy grey, not trusting this sudden turn on the part of the younger boy.

'Yeah, of course.' Edmund turned to Peter and Susan. 'Didn't I tell you about the football field in the bathroom cupboard?' he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Elizabeth could have killed the boy for the look on Lucy's face. She had not grown up with this constant teasing and taunting; she had grown up with harsh words and blows, but even she could tell that Edmund had hurt Lucy in a way he never should have. His careless words were just that: careless. He did not care about Lucy or her feelings.

Peter sighed. 'Oh, will you just stop it? You just have to make everything worse, don't you!' he said, angry at the younger boy.

'It was just a joke,' Edmund muttered sullenly.

'When are you going to learn to grow up?' Peter demanded.

Edmund lunged forward, fury in his eyes. 'Shut up! You think you're Dad, but you're _not!_' he shouted furiously, backing Peter up before he turned and ran, sullen and miserable. Peter watched him go, knowing he had said the wrong thing.

Susan looked at him in disgust. Peter faced her gaze, knowing that he deserved it. 'Well, that was nicely handled,' she said with scorn, before following Edmund.

'But...it really was there...' Lucy said, trying to convince him of her sincerity and truthfulness. Elizabeth watched him, waiting for his reaction, her grey eyes darkening even further.

'Susan's right, Lucy. That's enough,' Peter said slowly. He met Elizabeth's steady gaze, before turning away and going down the steps slowly.

* * *

Elizabeth watched him go. She was angry with all three of them, but perhaps she was the angriest with Edmund. He had led Lucy on, given her false hope, and dashed it to pieces. Susan, she was certainly angry with, but with more sadness than anger at the girl. 

She wasn't really angry with Peter. She knew what he was trying to deal with; he had his own issues over it. His father was away, fighting in the war. She knew how he felt; her father had beaten her, but she still missed him. He had been told to take care of his brother and sisters, and he felt that he had to take the place, at least temporarily, of their parents. She knew how he felt; but she was still angry, angry that all three of them had brushed Lucy's word off, as though it had been worth nothing; nothing at all.

Lucy turned, half-afraid. 'Do you believe me, Elizabeth?' she said in a pleading whisper.

Elizabeth's heart smote her. She knelt to be at eye level with the girl. 'I do, Lucy, but I know the truth. I've been there. I've been to Narnia.'

Lucy sucked in a breath. 'You have? When!'

'Just then. I came out just after you did. I don't think time runs the same between our world and theirs, Lucy. But I know you're not lying. And they're fools if they don't realise it soon!' Elizabeth said fiercely.

Lucy threw her arms around Elizabeth, hugging her tightly. The older girl was shocked for a minute, but tentatively put her arms around the other girl in return, squeezing gently, afraid of hurting her.

'Lucy? Can I ask you a favour?' Elizabeth asked.

'What, Elizabeth?' Lucy asked.

'Don't call me Elizabeth. My mother calls me that. Call me Liz, or Lizzie, but not Elizabeth.'

'All right – Liz,' Lucy said shyly.

_End Chapter Two._

_

* * *

_

Hi, everyone!

Here is the second chapter. I am giving it to you so soon because of the lovely reviews that people left and that I woke up to this morning and yesterday. Now, responses:

Undomiel2007: They do, indeed, help the speed of updates. I'm glad you like Elizabeth! I like her myself. She's my favourite character out of any I have written so far. Here's chapter no. 2 for your perusal! Thanks for leaving me my first beautiful review!

JJuuulliiiee: Glad it meets with your approval! I will keep updating, rest assured, this is my favourite story so far.

Lady of the Dale: Oh, believe me, I will not be speeding them up. I like long romances. Be prepared for a large amount of tragedy late in the story though...just a hint. It's a good idea. I like writing as much as you all like reading! (Besides, it helps me meet with my English teacher's approval.)

Bookworm-2111: Any time, just make sure you're not too busy to beta for me! And you didn't copyright it, so I didn't copy you, and, altogether besides that, I DO LAUGH AT FLAMES! Muahahahaha! Aaaaaand...HEATH! EWAN!

This may be the last chapter you get for a while, as I am starting Year Nine tomorrow. Lots and lots and lots of work...shudder...but rest assured I will try and get them out as soon as possible. Eliza, just because you start Year Ten, does not mean you have too much work to beta for me! Hint!

And check out my profile, I will be updating it soon. Also have a look at my profile on as I will be posting a story on there as well.

See you soon! Lots of love,

clairebearbooks.

PS. Remember. A writer does not live by bread alone...we live by REVIEWS! Please stop my little story from starving and review for me! Please?


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, all!

It has been AGES since I've updated, and I'm really sorry. Year Nine is so hectic! Teachers going ballistic cos I miss their classes for music and stuff, two hours more of school on Thursdays, tons more homework, lots of lunchtime meetings, having our first MUSIC RECITALS eek, and tons of other stuff going on, as well as Grease rehearsals scheduled so tightly we don't seem to be able to blink without missing something...anyways, it's hectic. As you can see. This term Grease finishes, thank God, but this term is also our in-house (well, in-school really) music eisteddfod, and I'm competing in about fifty different things for that - solo, competing with vocal ensemble, duet with one friend, trio with another, plus two choirs on top of that...ah well. It'll be fun. However, I will not be able to write as frequently, and due to the fact my computer ATE MY STORY (grrr...four chapters gone! Four!) as well as eating my scores (Sibelius...AARGH! Two compositions and a transposition gone!), this is the first chapter I've been able to get properly written and beta'ed. Thank you once again to my wonderful beta bookworm2111 (thanks, Booky) for nudging me along and for letting me cry on your shoulder several times this term...hope you enjoyed the Lindt!

Anyways, here's a new chappie for your enjoyment. Hope you had a great Easter (lots of choccie...yum. Lots of breakouts...ugh) and hope you have a great holiday! (What's left of it, anyways...)

Lots of love,

clairebearbooks.

* * *

That night Elizabeth was woken by a loud clamour. Grabbing her threadbare blue dressing gown, she ran along the passage, where Lucy was busy waking up Peter and Susan. Edmund, sulky-faced, trailed behind. 

'Peter! Peter! Wake up, Peter! Wake up! It's there, it's really there!' she cried, bouncing up and down on Peter's bed. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes as she entered the room.

'Lucy, what are you talking about?' Peter mumbled, turning over.

'Narnia, it's all in the wardrobe like I told you!' Lucy said excitedly.

'Lucy, you've been dreaming,' Susan said, tying her robe.

'But I haven't! I saw Mr Tumnus again! And this time Edmund went too!'

Peter sat up, staring at Edmund. The boy wriggled uncomfortably under Peter's questioning gaze, and the hard, steady grey eyes that belonged to Elizabeth. She was curious to see whether he would own up to it.

'You...you saw the Faun?' Peter said, his voice husky from sleep.

Edmund looked around uncomfortably and shook his head.

'Well...he didn't _actually_ go there with me,' Lucy said, getting up. Peter's gaze was sceptical. Lucy turned slowly to face Edmund, her brow wrinkled. 'What were you doing, Edmund?' she asked, her voice questioning.

Elizabeth's gaze sharpened as he drew breath. This was the moment of truth.

'I was...just...playing along,' he said finally. Lucy turned to look at Peter, her eyes bewildered.

'Sorry, Peter,' Edmund said, more confident now. This was ground that had been first trodden long ago. 'I shouldn't have encouraged her...but...you know what little children are like these days. They just don't know when to stop pretending,' he said maliciously, settling back on the bed.

Elizabeth's gaze burnt into him as Lucy sobbed and ran from the room. Liz was furious now, and they all knew it. Peter drew a half-breath at the rage in her eyes as she looked around the room. Susan was frightened at the stormy depths of the girl's eyes. Edmund, however, was whole-heartedly afraid of the girl at that moment; her eyes blazing like coals of grey fire. He was very glad when she turned and went after Lucy, even though their eyes had only met for a moment.

Susan glared at him in disgust as she went by. Peter shook his head, threw back the bed-clothes, grabbed his dressing-gown and shoved Edmund out of the way, throwing him back on the bed. Edmund's indignant 'Ow!' went unnoticed.

Lucy ran up a flight of stairs, sobbing. She had been betrayed in one of the worst ways possible, although she did not know it herself. Elizabeth, however, did, and was filled with pity for the little girl.

Lucy ran into something plump and soft. Drawing back a little, she looked up and realised it was the dreaded Professor. Too distraught to care, however, she threw her arms around him with a sob and pressed her face into his scarlet waistcoat.

Elizabeth reached the stairs first and stopped, staring. Peter and Susan reached it seconds after her to see the plump, slightly eccentric-looking Professor, looking surprised to find a little girl attaching herself to him in the middle of the night.

'You children are one shenanigan shy of sleeping in the stables!' an angry voice said. Elizabeth winced. Mrs Macready.

The housekeeper came out and stopped in her tracks, taking the situation in with a glance. 'Professor,' she said, her voice low. 'I'm sorry. I've told them you were _not_ to be disturbed,' she said, giving Elizabeth a glare from her lowered eyes. The girl returned it in full force.

'Oh, it's all right, Mrs Macready, I'm sure there's an explanation,' the Professor said in a voice that sounded as bewildered as he looked. He detached Lucy from his middle gently and led her towards Mrs Macready. 'But first I think this one is in need of a little hot chocolate.'

'Come along, dear,' Mrs Macready said softly, leading Lucy towards the kitchens. Elizabeth's eyes softened.

Peter and Susan turned to go. The Professor turned and saw them; he cleared his throat expectantly. 'A-hem.' Elizabeth had not moved.

* * *

The Professor filled the bowl of a well-polished briar pipe with tobacco, his deft fingers taking pinches of the well-scented tobacco from a small jar. 'You seem to have upset the delicate internal balance of my housekeeper,' he said inquiringly. 

'We're really very sorry, sir. It won't happen again,' Peter said, tugging at Susan's sleeve to lead her out of the Professor's private study. Elizabeth stayed put stubbornly, arms folded across her chest.

'It's our sister, sir,' Susan said. 'Lucy.'

'The weeping girl,' the Professor said.

'Yes sir. She's upset.'

'Hence the weeping.'

'It's nothing, sir. We can handle it,' Peter cut in, obviously wishing to be elsewhere, and fast.

'Oh, I can see that,' the Professor said mildly. The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched suspiciously.

'She thinks she's found a magical land. In the upstairs wardrobe,' Susan said, making a clean breast of it.

The Professor stopped. He got up and came around his desk, his twinkling eyes intent. 'What did you say?' he asked in astonishment, taking Susan's sleeve and leading her to the sofa.

'In the wardrobe. Upstairs,' Peter said reluctantly, following his sister. 'Lucy thinks she's found a forest inside.'

'She won't stop going on about it!' Susan said.

'What was it like?' the Professor said, intent on information.

'Like talking to a lunatic!' Susan said.

'No, no, no, not her, the forest,' the Professor said impatiently.

'You're not saying you believe her!' Peter said in disbelief.

'I do,' said Elizabeth, her words sharp. Peter and Susan stared at her before sharing a disbelieving glance. She returned their stare, her eyes steady.

'And you don't?' the Professor said, ignoring this exchange.

'Well, of course not,' Susan said uncertainly. 'I mean, logically, it's impossible.'

'What do they teach in schools these days?' the Professor murmured, shaking his head sadly.

'Edmund said they were only pretending,' Peter said, trying to bring the conversation back to a semblance of normality.

'And he's usually the more truthful one, is he?' the Professor demanded.

'No...this _would_ be the first time,' Peter said reluctantly.

'Well, if she's not mad, and she's not lying, then _logically_,' he shook his pipe at Susan, 'she must be telling the truth,' he finished as he lit his pipe.

'You're saying, sir, that we should just...believe her?' Peter said.

'She's your sister, isn't she? You're her family! You might just try acting like one!' the Professor said, giving them a sharp glance over the bowl of his pipe.

* * *

Elizabeth slipped out of bed; pulling her threadbare slippers onto her feet and pulling a jumper close around her shoulders. The nights were not warm in the old house, and where she was intending to go, it was even colder. 

She lit her bedside candle and crept along the passage, past Peter and Edmund's rooms, past Susan and Lucy's rooms, up along a flight of stairs, across the landing, down another set of stairs, around a corner, up another, and came to a latched door. She lifted the latch and went inside.

The wardrobe stood at the far end of the room, just like she had known it would. It was cold and dark in the room, and the wind rattled at the windowpanes. She approached it, shivering in the dark cold of the bleak, unfurnished room.

She lifted the latch of the wardrobe door and stepped inside, her brow wrinkled in uncertainty. Her mouth turned up in a joyful smile as she felt a gust of cold air that made her shiver. Blowing the candle out and leaving it on the floor, she stepped into the wardrobe, eager to get back to Narnia, to the world of ice and snow, to the world she had dreamed of for so long.

This time it was even quieter than the first time. There was a deadly calm over the land, one that chilled the girl. She pulled her jumper close around her, looking around with wide, frightened eyes. This was not the Narnia she had first come to.

'What's wrong? What's happened? Please talk to me,' she whispered on an impulse. 'Talk to me. Please, wing-friend. Come out to me.'

The bird that had saved her life before fluttered out of a tree and perched on her outstretched hand. She preened it with a single, gentle finger, admiring the glossy feathers. 'Hello, little one,' she whispered. 'What's afoot?'

It looked up at her with one beady eye and shivered, performing a reshuffling of its feathers. The little wren let out a frightened chirp.

Suddenly everything seemed to compress, while remaining the same. A wind rushed past and through her, playing havoc with the loose hair that spilled down her back. She looked around, frightened, and caught her breath as six white reindeer pounded towards her.

Behind the reindeer was a little gnarled man-creature. And behind the creature was a sled, harnessed to the reindeer.

In the sled was the woman she had seen before; the one that had so terrified her; the one who had nearly caught her. The woman with the aura of evil.

Her eyes focused on Elizabeth, in her navy-blue jumper and red and white striped pyjamas, the girl's white-gold hair spilling down her back. 'Ginarrbrik!' she called loudly.

Elizabeth turned to run, but the woman nodded to the dwarf. He sprang after her and pushed her down, holding a knife to her throat. She drew a shuddering breath and fell silent, terrified of the sharp blade.

'Who are you?' the woman asked sharply.

'Lisa…' Elizabeth quavered. 'Lisa Lewetts.'

'And how did you come to be in my kingdom, Lisa Lewetts?'

'Your kingdom?'

'The land of Narnia, you doltish girl!' the woman said sharply. 'I am the Queen of Narnia, Queen Jadis.'

'Please, your Highness, may I get up?' the girl pleaded.

'Come and sit with me, Lisa Lewetts. I wish to know more about you,' Jadis said, holding an arm out so her furs draped invitingly, tantalising the cold and shivering girl.

Elizabeth hesitated. She had thought quickly enough to give the woman a false name, but had not thought further than that. But she had two choices; stay with this woman, whom she instinctively disliked, or run back to her world, in which case she risked leading this woman through the wardrobe.

Involuntarily, her mind flicked back to all the times her parents and brothers had insulted and hurt her throughout her childhood.

_You're a lying little bitch! Turnips aren't that much...What did you buy with the extra, you little thief?_

_Take that, you miserable little excuse for a human..._

_You cook it now or you won't eat for a week..._

_Give me my shoes, girl, and make sure they're clean, or you won't sit down for a month, the beating I'll give you..._

_You? Friends? I'll give you friends! Take that, you lying little weasel, and that for every one of your imaginary friends! Filthy bastard..._

_Get out! Get out of my sight..._

_Give me those scissors, I'll hack off that hair of yours, my fine lady, and we'll have no more of this comb business, wretch, you don't deserve hair in the first place, only real people have hair like yours..._

_Give it to me! Give it to me now! You stole it! My word, you'll have a right beating from the police when they bring you down to the courthouse, my girl..._

_Lying, thieving, filthy, wretched, miserable, lazy little bitch! I'll see that you pay for that! I'll cane every penny out of you! One stroke of the cane for every single penny you took...ten pounds...a hundred strokes...you won't sleep easy for a month, my fine lady..._

_Wretch..._

_Liar..._

_Thief..._

_My fine lady..._

_My fine lady..._

_My fine lady..._

Elizabeth blinked. Her mother's eyes had flashed before her, in every moment when she had been beaten, cursed, punished and dismissed. The same hard look that was in the Witch's eyes now.

'Lisa?' the White Witch said again, holding out her furs invitingly.

Elizabeth looked up at her, half-startled by her presence. She turned and ran; back towards the lamp post, back towards the wardrobe, back towards freedom and safety in her world. She heard the Witch's shout of command and dwarf-man's snarl of rage and hate as he pursued her, and quickened her pace, her heart thumping.

She reached the lamp post relatively quickly. Gasping for breath, she threw herself down and under the bushes, wriggling back through the wardrobe, pulling at the coats to push herself through more quickly.

* * *

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and half-fell, half-ran out of the wardrobe, slamming the door behind her. Panting, she stared at it, before she tore back to her room and locked herself in, heart hammering in her chest, blood thundering in her ears, hair tangled and wild about her face, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were wide, dilated with the mad fear she had felt in the presence of the Witch. She threw herself on her bed and buried her head in the pillow, trying to drive away the fear that still haunted her stomach and drummed patterns on the inside of her skull. 

The next day, she was up early, not having slept. Peter and Susan were up early as well, and were unnerved by her wide eyes and pale face. She looked fragile and delicate, like a piece of blown glass, lighter than a butterfly's wing. Her lips were tightly pressed together, a thin line on her face. Her eyes stared out, the only points of colour, grey matching the rain outside. She looked as frail and insubstantial as a bubble, floating delicately in the air.

Before it dissipated into nothing.


End file.
